


follow me where I can't go

by Molnija



Series: everything but you [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Friendship, M/M, abuse of the word 'miserable' probably, i can tag friendship friendship's not a spoiler, nija wrote angst? what's next the apocalypse?, not gonna tag more because I don't want to spoil things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-30
Updated: 2017-03-30
Packaged: 2018-10-12 18:38:41
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,870
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10497141
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Molnija/pseuds/Molnija
Summary: It’s 7:48 PM when he finally opens the letter.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I'm just gonna leave this here
> 
> as I said I didn't tag anything except Fluff and Angst (and Friendship) because I wouldn't like spoiling it but rest assured that there's no character death. I'm not that cruel, at least not in this one.
> 
> fun fact: relative to how long this is it's the fastest thing I've ever written. I'm pretty sure.

It’s 7:48 PM when he finally opens the letter.

Tooru knows because he’s been stalling for two hours ever since he came home, the white envelope sitting on the kitchen table like a ticking time-bomb he’s too scared to defuse. He’s been pacing through the living room, unsure of what to do, and Keiji was watching him all the while with an unreadable expression, until he finally calmed down enough to grab the damn thing, sit down on the floor, and cut it open.

It takes him a moment to even understand the first line, as he’s shaking and a mix of excitement and fear is clouding his mind. “Dear Oikawa Tooru,” he reads out loud with a voice less stable than he wants it to be. “We are … Happy? Is that a ‘happy’ or am I reading that wrong—”

Keiji sighs, pulls the paper out of his hand, and clears his throat. “Dear Oikawa Tooru. We are happy to tell you that you have been chosen to play on the Japanese national volleyball team …”

His words trail off into the same nothing that’s currently inhabiting Tooru’s brain. He blinks once, twice, three times, then takes the paper back and stares at the page, but it’s nothing but a wide array of unknown kanji to him. Nothing makes sense.

Then, slowly, he starts to realise what this means.

“Wait,” he breathes, narrowing his eyes. “I made it?”

“You made it,” Keiji says, sounding as incredulous as Tooru feels.

A few seconds that feel like an eternity pass until a grin starts spreading on his face, and he grips the paper so hard he almost rips it in two. “I made it. I made it! _I made it on the team!_ ”

Keiji jumps up and pulls him into a tight hug and there goes the letter, he sincerely hopes he doesn’t need it anymore or else he’ll have to glue it back together, but _who even cares_ because this is _it_ , he made it, he’s going to play with the _national team_ alongside people like Sakusa, Aone, fucking Ushiwaka – he’s going to set for all of them in the national jersey and it’s going to be _glorious_.

He stares at Keiji for a moment and it’s like his boyfriend is the one chosen, his eyes are so bright and his smile so proud and he says, “I never once doubted you could do it,” and Tooru kisses him hard because he knows it’s true. Keiji’s always, _always_ been there even when he was at his lowest points and quite honestly, he’s not sure if he _could_ have done it without him.

The next few minutes are utter chaos comprised of hugging, kissing, screaming, and more hugging, but eventually they drop down on the sofa, and it’s the best Tooru has ever felt.

“Just so you know, I’m coming to every match and making a list of your screw-ups,” Keiji jokes and boops Tooru’s nose. “So don’t screw up, or I’ll run out of paper.”

Actually, he kind of does believe he’d do it. It definitely sounds like him. All the more reason to give it his all, but that was already decided from the beginning – he didn’t get into the national team by half-assing his job.

 _He got into the national team._ A giggle starts bubbling up in his throat and he starts shaking, his breath coming out in huffs that don’t really want to be laughs.

“Oh no, I broke you. How much is the repair?”

“A month’s worth of milk bread,” Tooru huffs out somehow, but Keiji shakes his head.

“Come on, that’s just not feasible. Two weeks, maybe, but with how much you eat, it’ll be gone in no time. Actually, are we talking a normal person’s month supply or your month supply?”

“I need to stay healthy, so I need to eat. Besides, you took half of it last time.” He doesn’t know whether he considers it a success or an utter failure to get Keiji hooked on milk break, because he didn’t account for just how much he can eat. An oversight, in hindsight. Their poor budget …

It just makes him laugh more and he throws back his head staring at the ceiling with a wide grin. “The training facilities are in Tokyo, so with a bit of luck we won’t even have to move.”

It’s perfect, it’s absolutely positively _perfect_ , and he fucking deserves it. After facing failure so many times in junior high, high school, and university – although they at least made nationals for a change, thank god – he _deserves_ this, his own personal happy ending. Or, well happy beginning. Happy … Middle part? He can’t decide, all he knows is the happy part.

“Now I only need for Aruka to write me back and everything will be flawless,” Keiji murmurs and cuddles closer to Tooru with a smile. “And if they don’t … I’ll find something else.”

“They have to! If I’m getting my dream, so are you.” Despite all of his efforts to get his boyfriend into professional volleyball, Keiji chose photography like he studied. If he’s being honest, Tooru has no idea what he’s talking about most of the time – who could have thought taking photos would be so technical? – but he has understood that getting admitted to work for Japan’s most renowned photo agency is a damn big deal. He has no doubts he’ll make it though, since Keiji is _good_. Or, uh, at least that’s what he thinks. His photos are not just pretty, but they have character and tell stories, and even if he has no experience in the technical department, he can tell that’s important.

Keiji laughs quietly. “How can you be this positive with me but not with yourself?”

“I know your strengths,” he says earnestly. He knows Keiji’s strengths, and he knows his own as well, but his weaknesses tend to wiggle their way in front of them, stealing the spotlight. Perhaps he’s biased because he just so happens to love him, but Keiji has never been like that. He’s always been radiant with his abilities, maybe exactly because he doesn’t flaunt them.

“You’re my greatest strength,” Keiji whispers and it’s so unbelievably cheesy he can’t help but pull him closer and press a kiss onto his hair.

“You sap. I love you.”

 

* * *

 

The ball slams on the floor with a satisfying _thwump_ and Tooru smirks at the impact. It’s been a while since he’s last stayed after practice, especially since he graduated and has mostly been playing with the neighbourhood team, and hitting some serves in peace feels as good as ever.

“Nice serve,” someone says and when he looks to the side, he finds Keiji leaning against the doorway, unimpressed. “But it was out.”

“What? No, it wasn’t!”

“Only barely. You wouldn’t have noticed, I can imagine it’s hard to see from where you were.”

He raises an eyebrow, but if Keiji says that, who is he to doubt him? He _did_ have it hit close to the line, and it _was_ hard to see. Tooru sighs. “Damn it, and it felt so good, too …”

“It happens to the best of us,” Keiji says with a smile. “You do know it’s eight though, right?”

“Already?” It hasn’t felt that late, but one look at the clock high up on the gym wall reveals that it indeed is eight, 8:02 PM to be exact. “Agh, sorry, I got caught up in the moment.”

“It’s okay. At least it’s not midnight like it used to be.”

Tooru laughs guiltily and runs a hand through his hair. “True … Can’t promise anything once the national training starts, though.”

 _National training._ It’s still sinking in, that this is actually a thing that’s happening, not some extremely vivid fever dream. In a spur of the moment he darts over to Keiji and hugs him, squealing at the thought of this all being real and his boyfriend being a part of it. Two days have passed and it’s still _perfect_.

“Go take a shower, you fluffball.”

“Alright, alright.” He pulls back and looks at Keiji for a few seconds, taking him in. He’s beautiful as ever, all soft black curls and deep sea-green eyes and warm tan skin. Flawless. “I love you.”

“I know, with how often you’ve said it lately.”

“No harm in spelling out the truth, is there? Besides, it’s not like you ever get tired of hearing it.” He doesn’t get tired of saying it, either, because it is the truth, and he’ll damn well speak the truth whenever he so pleases. The privilege of being Oikawa Tooru is that people tend to listen.

He showers and gets dressed in what has to be a new record time but it still feels too long until he’s out the door, taking Keiji’s hand as they walk to the car. It’s admirable Keiji would take the thirty minute train ride at this time just to see him, and he can’t help but smile.

The drive back home is silent, only the radio playing in the background, but comfortable. Tooru’s mostly focused on the road but every so often he sneaks a glance at his boyfriend next to him, who’s gazing out of the window into the night, and his heart swells at it. Sometimes he can’t believe he found someone like him, and he knows there’ll never be anyone like him again.

And the best thing about it is that it doesn’t even matter.

They arrive at their apartment a little after quarter to nine and end up ordering pizza instead of trying to cook something right now, and while they’re sitting on the floor with the TV playing some animal documentary neither of them are paying attention to eating this really fat, probably really unhealthy pizza, he can’t help but think it’s a miracle if it can get any better than this.

That is until Keiji’s gaze drops down, and he says, slowly, carefully, “Tooru.”

It doesn’t sound like a good ‘Tooru’, but not all bad, either. He cocks his head and smiles softly; _no matter what it is, I’m here._ “Yes, love?”

One deep breath, two. Then, almost a murmur, “I didn’t get the job.”

Oh.

Oh no.

“Keiji—”

“It’s okay, really,” he assures, but the smile on his lips looks sad. “I’ll find something else. Maybe it’s for the best.”

No— No, that’s not _right_. That’s not how it’s supposed to be, he’s supposed to get it just like Tooru got on the team. They’re _both_ supposed to get there, and it’s definitely not for the _best_. Keiji can fool many people, but Tooru isn’t one of them. “What did they say? Are they looking for experience, because that’s bullshit, you have experience, and why would they turn you down in the first place? You’re amazing!”

“Other people were just better. That’s how it is.”

Those words hit home. Hard.

But it’s an entirely different thing hearing Keiji say them with such a strained voice than telling them to himself, over and over again. It took him quite some time to figure out that the word he was actually looking for was ‘different’, not ‘better’, and he won’t let him go through the same.

“Oh, shut up. They weren’t.” He scoots over to him and places his hands on Keiji’s shoulders, looking him directly into the eyes. “You’ll find a way to get in. You have to. It’s your dream.”

“Not like yours is playing on the national team,” his boyfriend whispers and leans forward, their foreheads touching. His eyes are closed, and he’s smiling faintly. “It’s important to me, yes. But I can try again next time they’re hiring, and maybe I’ll find something even better.”

He’s not happy with this at all, and he knows Keiji isn’t either, and yet he can’t do anything but hold him close.

 

* * *

 

Three days before the first training session, at precisely 12:25 PM, Tooru notices Keiji sitting at the kitchen table, staring at his phone.

The hand holding it is tense, and the eyes the screen is reflecting in are open wider than usual. He can’t tell if it’s a bad or a good expression on his boyfriend’s face, mostly it just seems shocked, unbelieving.

“You alright?” he asks and leans against the table. He doesn’t want to invade his privacy by looking at his screen, but he can’t help but sneak a glance, revealing Keiji’s mailbox, and a bunch of text he can’t read from here.

Keiji blinks as if he’d just pulled him out of a dream and takes a deep breath.

“It’s Aruka. They’re offering me a job after all.”

“What? That’s _great_!” He knew it. He knew they couldn’t just turn him down, their happily ever after is back on track, thank you, universe, for this amazing opportunity—

“In Kyoto.”

Wait.

What?

“Kyo… Kyoto? Wait a second …” That’s not right. He applied for their main branch in Tokyo, they can’t just send him to a place six hours away. “Are you sure you’ve read that correctly? Maybe that’s just their address …”

“No, they … They’re offering me because I didn’t get the Tokyo one. As a second chance.”

No, that’s _wrong_ , that can’t be. He refuses to believe that. They can’t just relocate him like that, that’s just insensitive, if it had been a minor branch somewhere else in the prefecture he would have understood but out of it? It doesn’t make sense. None of this makes sense.

Keiji puts down the phone with shaking hands and Tooru instinctively reaches out to them, which in turn only makes him realise he’s shaking as well.

This isn’t happening.

“It’s their second biggest branch— Actually I’m pretty sure it’s just as big as the Tokyo one … Working for it would be amazing …”

It’s so, so painfully obvious he wants this. Of course he does. If Tooru was him, he’d be crying tears of joy right now, this is his national team, this is his dream. And it’s so close but so far away and who knows if there’ll ever be a chance for him like this again? For all he knows this is the last one.

But if he left— If he left that would mean long-distance and he’s not sure if he can do that.

He knows it’s selfish and probably makes him a more terrible person than he already is but he wants so _desperately_ for him to stay.

“I’m not going.”

God, Tooru hates himself for being happy about those words.

Until he looks up and sees how Keiji’s eyes are glazed over, and his lips are trembling and his hands still haven’t stopped shaking and it’s like a slap in the face.

“What the fuck?” he whispers, and every word feels like he’s taking a stab directly to the heart but it doesn’t matter. “Of course you’re going.”

The look Keiji gives him would almost be comical if it weren’t for the situation, although he does feel like laughing hysterically because heck, that might solve it all. Maybe it’s just some big practical joke, courtesy of Bokuto and Kuroo or something, although they’re not cruel enough to do something like this.

“What? No. I’m not. We’re sticking with our original plan and I’ll search for something else.”

“Our original plan was for both of us to be living our dreams.” Spoken out loud that sounds dumb but it’s true, and it was actually damn well achievable if he does say so himself. And it still is. Him on the national volleyball team. Keiji at Aruka Agency.

560 kilometres between them.

Keiji’s shaking his head almost violently, his breathing erratic. “No. _No._ That’s not … No. This is my decision, and we’ll find a solution somehow, there’s always a solution if you search hard enough—”

“A solution for what? Keiji …” He doesn’t want to sound pleading but he can’t help it, he can’t let Keiji sacrifice the chance of his lifetime because of him. He couldn’t live with that guilt and he couldn’t live with having everything he ever wanted while the person he loves the most works some crappy job he doesn’t want even though he could have had _so much better_.

But god. _God._ The thought of leaving him is too much to handle.

He doesn’t notice he’s crying until Keiji wipes a tear away from his cheek, smiling weakly, and he knows he, too, is barely holding it together.

“I’m fine with it. I really am.”

“ _Don’t lie to me!_ ” Tooru shouts and a sob shakes his body, and finally, finally he breaks. “Don’t be so considerate! You _know_ you’re not fine with it, why would you be? You’d be stupid if you were! Do you think I am? Do you think I’m okay with any of this?!”

“Of course you’re not!” Keiji grabs him and pulls him close, burying his face in his chest and Tooru wants nothing more than to keep him there forever. “Of course you’re not … Fuck …”

A long moment passes that feels like an eternity and Tooru thinks that the universe has a despicable way of dangling everything he ever wanted in front of him just to pull it away at the last moment. He strokes Keiji’s hair while trying to stop his tears – if they just stay like this, maybe nothing will change and everything will be fine and there won’t be anything to deal with other than having to wake up early and traffic jams and running out of chocolate.

“I want this opportunity,” Keiji murmurs and it comes back with a vengeance. “But I want to be with you. If I have to sacrifice one of those, then I will, and I’ll always choose you over everything.”

Something about that rubs him the wrong way. Why are they only talking about Keiji? Why should Keiji be the one who has to make the sacrifice?

“If you go, and I go with you …”

“No.”

Well, that was stern.

“You’d be miserable without volleyball. I’ve seen you when you couldn’t play.”

“If I talk to the coaches maybe they’ll let me train in Kyoto—”

“Without the team?” Keiji huffs out a silent laugh. “Don’t be stupid.”

“Maybe I don’t care about the national team,” he lies and regrets it the moment it’s out. Nobody would buy that, especially not Keiji. Of course he cares. It’s why he can understand him so well – giving up playing on the team is just as painful as giving up his boyfriend.

“Do you really think I’d believe that?”

“Then …” Perhaps Keiji was right and there is a solution. One that works. It might not be perfect but if they can retain everything they have … But the only thing there is would be long-distance.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust their relationship. They’ve been together for four years now and they’re still going strong, and he wholeheartedly believes they’d somehow make it out alive. But his schedule is going to be packed, which means less time to meet up, and he’s not sure if he could even call something kept up through video chats and occasional meetings that are too short for either of their liking a proper relationship, as much as he respects people who manage.

Going long-distance would mean taking the very real risk it’s going to pan out slowly, and they’re losing touch until nothing remains but a broken skeleton of what once was love.

He’s lost his friendship with Iwaizumi the same way, even if neither of them would say it out loud.

It’s a disgraceful end to any kind of relationship.

It’s not supposed to be the _end_ at all.

“I’m not letting this tear us apart, okay?” Keiji says, clearly agitated. “I’m not letting it.”

“By giving up on your dreams so that I don’t have to.” He doesn’t mean to say it out loud but it slips out and the words hang over them, weighing them down. He’s right, he knows it. It’s not fair to either of them.

Usually, Keiji would say something like ‘dreams are just that, you can’t always reach them’ but the harsh reality is that he’s silent, because both of them are aware that the fact that they can is what’s the problem here.

Now Tooru kind of wishes they’d refused him for good.

At the same time, though, he doesn’t, because this is something that could truly make Keiji happy. He’s heard him going on long rants about the way certain photos in magazines are shot, he’s seen his eyes light up at the sight of a new motive when inspiration strikes, he’s stopped for him so many times because _Tooru, wait a second, the lighting here is just right_. Keiji clearly enjoys playing volleyball, even haphazardly now that they’ve graduated, but his passion is photography, and it’s to him what volleyball is to Tooru and that’s exactly why.

Aruka Agency advertises for its jobs by giving great creative freedom, something that most others don’t have. It’s why Keiji wanted this particular one in the first place. It’s exactly what he wants, and what he needs, and what’s best for him.

Could he live with himself if his mere presence in his life were to deny him that?

He knows the answer.

Keiji leans back, away from him, and takes a deep breath. “Let’s handle this like the responsible adults we’re supposed to be.”

Right. They can’t lose sight of what’s important or they might fight – it doesn’t happen often, but something in the back of his mind is telling him this came dangerously close.

It’s possible to care too much, as well.

“We’ll have to give it some time,” he says but the words sound wrong in his ears.

With that, Keiji stands up from his chair and runs a hand through his hair. “I’m taking a shower. Can I steal your shampoo?”

“It’s not stealing if you ask.” Tooru smiles faintly and receives a sudden hug in return.

“I really want this, but I don’t think my decision is going to change,” he mutters into his hair. “You’re too important to me.”

Maybe it’s because it’s the first time anyone told him that, but Tooru can feel tears welling up in his eyes once again. He knows what it’s like to feel wanted, and Keiji can be a very clingy boyfriend to have, and yet this is different. A pain that’s hard to describe.

“Thank you for being honest with me,” he whispers back.

 

* * *

 

“Listen, Ushiwaka-chan, we all know you’re super special but trust me, I’ve worked with left-handed spikers before, and that right there was just a botched spike.”

Aone nods solemnly, and Tooru could not be more glad for him to be here, as he’s usually on his side. Working with the national team is rewarding as hell, but in order to get to that point, he has to deal with some very strange people. Sakusa wouldn’t even touch his tosses for the first two days. What’s the point of setting if your ace doesn’t spike it? And that’s nothing to say of Bokuto, who hasn’t been playing with him yet since Tooru’s on the B-team for now but from everything he’s heard, his setter has considered quitting volleyball.

He’s in for a real ride with this one.

It’s the best thing ever.

Ushijima furrows his eyebrows, confused. “I didn’t do it differently than I always do it.”

“Yes, you did, I’ve been tossing to you pretty much nonstop, you’re not that hard to get used to,” Tooru argues and sighs. “Listen, I get this is a new constellation for both of us. But don’t you think I know you just a little bit?” They’ve been rivals for years, after all, and even if he doesn’t resent him anymore – maybe he never really has – he’s been studying him quite avidly back when they were opponents, even after that.

“I don’t see what I did wrong, but I’m sorry. Let’s try it again.” Ushijima also seems to be a surprisingly apologetic teammate, which he didn’t expect, but he guesses it makes sense. A big part of being a great ace is also being able to make compromises and give in when necessary. Damn it, sometimes he wishes he still hated him, because that weird kind of perfection of his can be downright infuriating. If Keiji’s flawlessness is most definitely subjective, but painfully endearing, Ushijima’s just makes him want to bang his head against the gym wall.

They try the same move a few more times but nothing comes of it. Did something happen? He doesn’t look like he’s injured, so maybe he’s just having a bad day. Cheering this strange, strange man up is a task he has not yet mastered, so he’s at a loss until their coaches finally call it quits for today.

“Yo, Oikawa,” Kuroo calls and jogs over to him, Bokuto in tow. “How are things going?”

“How does it look?”

“I wish you could play with me,” Bokuto whines and pouts. “Oreki is great and all, but he’s no you or Akaashi. I thought when you got invited I’d finally get to spike your tosses again. University was so much better!”

Ah, yes, only Bokuto could genuinely complain about being on the national team. Of course, Tooru knows it’s only because he loves volleyball arguably more than anyone else in the room, even himself.

“Give Oreki a break, he’s trying his best. He almost cried today because you went dejected.” Kuroo nudges his shoulder and gives Oikawa the look they’ve established as ‘could be worse, though’ as they enter the changing room. “Speaking of Akaashi, how’s he?”

Well … How _is_ he?

It’s been a week and he still hasn’t refused the offer. Tooru’s well aware he could still take it at any given minute as long as that’s still in the air. He’s been awfully quiet lately, much more so than how he usually is around him. The last few nights he hasn’t slept much, some nights not at all. The feeling of restlessness and overthinking things is contagious, and it’s only been here that he’s truly been able to free his mind for a change.

“Oh, he’s fine.”

 

* * *

 

It’s the sound of something crashing the kitchen that wakes him up.

He needs a few seconds to go through the most important questions, such as _who the fuck was that?_ and _wait, is someone robbing us?_ and _couldn’t they have waited until I was awake, god damn it?_ until he realises he’s alone in bed and whoever dropped something that could shatter with this kind of sound was most likely Keiji.

Sure enough, his boyfriend is kneeling on the floor, frantically picking up shards of what looks like one of their plates and muttering a mantra of “fuck, fuck, fuck” under his breath.

“Need help with that?” Tooru asks but a yawn forces its way in and distorts his words.

Keiji’s head yanks up and he gasps. “Shit, I didn’t mean to wake you up …”

“’s okay.” He drops down to the floor with him and blinks a few times, not quite trusting his sense of vision just yet, before carefully picking up the pieces and throwing them into the trash bin until it’s all clean and tidy again.

“God, I’m sorry, I was just …”

He quickly scans the cooking area and raises an eyebrow. “Making soba at 3:14 in the morning?”

“Pancakes, actually.” Keiji pauses, looks at the counter, then at Tooru, then back at the counter. “With noodles and soy sauce. Right.”

“You don’t need food, you need sleep,” Tooru says and reaches out to him. “C’mere.”

Keiji doesn’t follow through and instead stands up straight and shakes his head. “I can’t sleep.”

“I can see that.” As can everyone else, most likely, with how big the shadows under his eyes have become. Not that Tooru looks much better, he just hasn’t convinced Keiji on the importance of concealer yet. Then, without even thinking, he adds, “Just take the damn job offer.”

It only slowly sinks in what he’s implying, and when he realises, he almost smiles at the bittersweet feeling of it.

If he doesn’t take it, he’ll regret that for the rest of his life. Even if he might never say it out loud, it’s always going to be there, the underlying feeling of _if I had just_. Tooru knows it, he knows it well. If he had just gone to Yokusora University like Iwaizumi, he wouldn’t have met Keiji, but he’d still be close to his childhood best friend. If he had just made up with his mother after their fight, he would have lost the connection to his sister but retained the one to his parents. If he had just played a different position, he wouldn’t have experienced the joy of being a setter, but he wouldn’t have gone through all the heartbreak and pain he faced. Does he regret any of the choices he made?

Honestly, sometimes he does.

In the end he’s still ended up where he wants to be, but he’s had casualties among the way that have been impossible to replace.

For Keiji, giving up Aruka is one of those casualties.

Leaving Tooru – as much as the thought hurts, and by _god_ it hurts – wouldn’t be easy, either, but not taking the offer is a decision that will affect the rest of his life in ways it never should.

He can’t let that happen.

The kitchen is awfully quiet, a heavy silence filled with everything that could have been, and when Keiji looks up at him his lips are trembling and his eyes are wet. “What if I did?”

Tooru takes a quick step towards him and pulls him into his arms – burying Keiji’s head in his shoulder so he won’t see him fall apart, his face pulled into a strange mask of forcefully calm, but on the verge of tears, and he so desperately wants to say ‘actually, that was a stupid proposal, you should just stay here’ but instead he holds back a sob and mutters, as clearly as he can manage,

“I’d be happy for you of course, you dumb child.”

 

* * *

 

The conversation later that day is probably the hardest thing he’s ever had to do in his life.

For a good half hour they don’t even talk, just sit next to each other on the sofa, dreading what’s to come, and it’s 2:08 PM when Keiji finally says, “I want to do this right.”

“That makes two of us,” Tooru agrees and in that moment, it almost feels like there’s still some semblance of hope.

“I don’t want to go out of this and be able to say I didn’t try everything I could.”

‘Trying everything’ sure sounds like a plan, but honestly, there’s not much _to_ try. Still, Tooru nods. “If you have a compromise, I’ll be happy to hear it.”

Neither of their voices betrays what they feel, and in parts it’s because this has always been their way of addressing problems, so it seems almost normal. Emotions are complicated, and they both feel better when they can break the issue down rationally before trying to find a solution. It’s just the way they work, both in their relationship and outside of it, and it’s been an enormous help to make them become as stable as they are.

Keiji sighs and turns around, facing him. “The obvious idea is long-distance, but we’ve talked that out before.”

They have, at the start of their relationship, and neither of their stances have changed, even though it sounds oh so tempting. Especially now that the reason they’re even having this problem is their careers, it won’t work for either of them – it’s already tough enough to be away from Keiji for a week or two and Tooru notices in how he pretty much screws up everything he tries because he’s too focused on when he’ll be back. If they end it, having anything to distract him from it would be welcome.

And if he’s completely honest, he hates the thought of long-distance mostly because he’s afraid of growing used to the thought of Keiji not being here when he’s supposed to be.

“If you really want to try it, we can,” he says anyway, but he’s really not fond of the idea. _Pull through with it or don’t do it at all_ has always been his secondary, unofficial motto.

Keiji shakes his head and takes a deep breath. “It sounds better than leaving you, but we both know it’s not for us.”

Good to see they’re on the same page.

Some part of Tooru still wanted for him to object.

“There’s no way for us to move somewhere in the middle or something, it’s just too far away to be feasible,” he starts thinking out loud, desperately combing through all the options he knows aren’t really there. “Can you talk to the managers in Kyoto and ask them to relocate you?”

“Defies the purpose. The whole reason they offered Kyoto was because Tokyo wasn’t a possibility,” Keiji shuts him down quickly.

“Hey, I’m grasping at straws trying to save our relationship here, you’re supposed to be working with me!” He doesn’t know why he’s trying to lighten the mood, the situation really doesn’t call for it, but he can’t help it, he wants for this to be a big joke that turns out just fine but he knows it isn’t. For someone credited with empathy, he sure is wonderful at turning away from emotional problems.

Keiji knows, too, and his unimpressed stare shuts him up immediately.

“Sorry. I just …” There’s so many things to say but he’s lacking the words, as always when it’s something important, apparently. God, he sucks at this. This situation sucks. Everything sucks right now.

“I know. I want for this to work out as much as you do.”

To someone else, Keiji’s voice might have sounded careless, apathetic even, but Tooru has spent the last four years of his life with him and can read him like a book – he’s honest, of course he is, this is tearing him apart as much as Tooru, no matter how hard they’re trying to keep themselves together.

Maybe that’s exactly why he says, “But it won’t.”

“It won’t,” Keiji repeats, hollowly.

“Don’t give up the biggest chance of your life for me,” Tooru murmurs, and he’s afraid if he spoke louder, his voice and with it his composure would break. “I know it hurts, it hurts so much, but you’ll get over me. You’ll never stop regretting not taking the job.” He knows, he’s been through it, and it’s only making it feel worse right now. “You’ll find someone else, and heck, even if you don’t you’ll find happiness. Aruka changes your life forever, much more than a relationship could ever do it.”

Calling this ‘a relationship’ leaves a bitter taste in his mouth, even though it’s technically correct. It’s never been just ‘a relationship’ to him like the others he had. It’s _so_ much more.

Keiji is the first person he’s ever truly loved in a romantic way, and he’ll most likely be the last. He never believed in soulmates despite always wanting to, but this comes close, and there’s only one relationship like that in anyone’s life.

But sometimes love just isn’t enough to keep people together.

And sometimes love means letting go.

Thinking all these things is so easy.

A sob shakes his body and before he knows it his vision is blurred with tears, and Keiji’s in his arms, crying, and they’re both crying and one of them says “I love you so much” but he can’t even tell who it is as he holds on for dear life, gasping for air he can’t take in, and he’s drowning in everything that could have been.

 

* * *

 

Keiji refuses to let him see him off at the train station.

Tooru brings him to the door of the apartment complex anyway, they share one last passionate kiss, and then the taxi arrives at precisely 9:02 AM and just like that, it’s over.

A clean cut. Like a guillotine, quick and precise. The exact opposite of how they started.

When he’s looking at the now empty street like this, he can almost imagine Keiji’s only leaving for a day or two, being dragged on a spontaneous trip by Sugawara and Yaku like many times before.

It will probably take a while until he’s able to realise he’s gone for good.

Until then, Tooru doesn’t cry. He doesn’t feel sad, either, but certainly not happy. It’s weird, there’s an emptiness inside him that at the same time is filled with something like acceptance, joy and pain that cancel each other out until the only thing that remains is some mushy, undefinable _thing_ hardly worthy of being called an emotion.

For most of the day, he functions.

There’s no practice today, as the coach has practically forced them all to take a day off, which is probably a good thing considering he really doesn’t feel like talking to Bokuto or Kuroo. Instead he turns on the TV to have some white noise in the background while he’s cooking something vaguely resembling fried rice, and when he decides it’s going too quickly he adds more and more stuff and ends up with an amount he could probably feed a whole family with.

He considers inviting his sister, but she’s most likely working and even if she wasn’t, he’d be caught under her knowing and somewhat judgemental stares all day.

Once that’s finished, he goes out for a run, choosing a route he’s never taken, which keeps him busy for some time until he gets ice cream because why the hell not in a flavour he’s never tried, visits a park he’s never been too, and checks out the nearby car shop he’s never so much as spared a second glance even though he couldn’t give less of a damn about cars. Some of the models are really pretty, but they’re all out of his price range anyway. He’s happy with his tiny blue Hyundai he once crashed into a pole but couldn’t bear to part with, so he had to have it fixed, which was much more expensive than just getting rid of it and buying a new one.

When he comes back to the apartment it’s dark outside, and he instinctively calls, “I’m home!” before remembering nobody’s there to hear it.

Tooru takes a deep, shuddering breath as he lets his eyes wander.

The TV’s still going, he forgot to turn it off, apparently, and it’s playing an old quiz show Keiji is stupidly fond of. He’s not sure what’s different about this one, but he always demands they watch it, and one time Tooru found his ex-girlfriend from high school participating and actually winning. Keiji has never let him live it down, and Tooru told him if he really wanted them to stay together, he better never participate and win in this quiz show, as it’s clearly a bad sign.

A huge chunk of the fried rice is still left on the kitchen table, cooled down by now and looking even more miserable than before, and if Keiji was here, it would have never lived long enough to turn into this sad pile of supposed food. It’s not his favourite food, but that doesn’t mean a lot with Keiji. He just side-eyes him for making too much and then proceeds to eat it all anyway, and Tooru has absolutely no idea how he’s burning all of those calories even though he does exercise. One of his university friends was the same way, and he’s totally envious of their metabolisms.

He quickly grabs the remote to shut down the TV before he can overthink things and all that’s left is the clock hanging high up on the wall, going tick, tock, tick, tock, and it has always driven him crazy just how unnecessarily loud it is but it was a present from Keiji’s mother for moving into their apartment and taking it down would seem uncalled for, especially since Keiji finds it relaxing, for some reason.

“Fuck off,” he whispers to it now that he’s standing in the middle of the room without a purpose, waiting for … What, exactly?

For Keiji to come home?

_That’s not going to happen, you idiot._

It’s not going to happen. Because Keiji’s gone. Off to Kyoto, 600 kilometres away, for good.

He’s _gone_ , and if everything goes right he’ll never come back.

He didn’t just leave because his friends are dragging him on a trip, or because his extended family invited him to a Christmas party, or because his professor needed his help with a project at the sea, and he didn’t just leave for a few long days.

Tooru knows that. He knew that all along, that was the whole point of this and why it was so difficult, but in the end it’s the right thing.

And yet it’s like the realisation of this being reality has waited until he’s alone and vulnerable to punch him in the gut.

He quite literally breaks down.

Half of him wants to laugh at his own idiocy while the other is shaking helplessly, and he’s sitting on the floor curled into a ball in a hazy, feverish mix of both, dragging his hands over his face and through his hair and along his upper arms and he wants to scream but he can’t breathe in enough air to make any other sound than pathetic whimpers that turn into huffs of laughter that turn into desperate sobs that barely resemble Keiji’s name.

Long after all his tears are cried away and he feels nothing but hollow, he manages to drag himself up and into bed, sleep hitting him through nothing but sheer exhaustion from crying, and his last thought is that maybe it’s good it hit him this hard, because there’s no way he could sleep on his own, in a bed that’s too big and cold and empty.

 

* * *

 

Approximately two weeks later, he moves into his new apartment.

It was a spontaneous, risky decision to sell it, but after the first day he didn’t set foot in it anymore anyway and opted for staying with Bokuto and Kuroo, and one thing led to the other and his new place is not only closer to their practice faculties and has a nicer view with an actual balcony, but also distinctly less loaded with _Keiji_.

He’s turning not thinking about him into an artform, until he starts thinking about how he’s not thinking about him and starts crying again out of the blue. He’s been terrible at keeping his emotions in check, and it almost feels like Keiji was seventy percent of his self-control, even though he knows it’s not true.

When Bokuto and Kuroo heard about it, they didn’t question him, just took him in and hugged him and played board games with him all day while inhaling junk food (something they got yelled at for by their coaches a day later). With them it’s almost okay – similarly with the others, he’s finding himself getting along with Nishinoya better than he originally assumed, and even Ushiwaka can be nice company sometimes. He just happens to know Bokuto and Kuroo from university, and they’ve even lived together for a brief time in their fourth year, so they almost feel like family, something he notices he’s really needed lately.

If they’re still in contact with Keiji, they don’t mention it.

His new place is much more modern than their simple apartment and costs almost the same, but it’s smaller, as well. Some of the walls are painted red, it seems influenced by modern American apartments, and from the balcony he can see the high buildings of Tokyo’s centre, just behind a small park that’s more of a garden.

He likes it.

It’s barren still though, and he can’t find it in himself to properly decorate it and make it his own yet – for now he’s just glad to be out of the place where everything reminds him of what used to be and could have been. If there’s one thing to do now it’s to look ahead, not back, no matter how difficult it is not to turn back around.

He can’t throw the progress he’s made out the window.

Not that it can really be called progress when the only thing that properly clears his mind and makes him feel anything akin to enthusiasm is volleyball, but heck, it wouldn’t be the first time. Fate is at least kind enough to him to give him something he can really pour himself into and unlike in junior high or even high school, he’s not afraid to be overdoing it, mostly because Nishinoya has promised him he’d kick him if he did. Iwaizumi might not be here, but he has other friends, and it’s good to know they care for him.

At least his distaste for anything alcoholic that hasn’t been mixed with so much of something else it’s barely alcohol anymore is saving him from turning into a complete mess, he supposes.

Not that he’s not a mess to begin with. A quiet, functioning mess that occasionally breaks down and lets the weight of being alone crush him.

Sometimes he wonders what could have happened had he ditched this whole national team thing and accompanied Keiji to Kyoto.

Then he immediately scolds himself for it after suffering through another bout of heartache and what can only be described as a mild panic attack. Well, that’s what Kuroo called it, anyway.

But. He’s capable of living his life without needing help for the most basic of things, which he considers a success. That is, until the vile, stubborn, impossibly annoying part of him reminds him that he shouldn’t see getting over the love of his life as a good thing, even if he’s doing anything but.

He manages.

For Keiji’s sake, too, each day is getting a bit better.

 

* * *

 

The stars shimmer above them, a myriad of lights illuminating the wide field stretching out into every direction. It’s a silent late summer night, just cool enough to be refreshing and just warm enough to ditch the jackets and just lie there on the ground in t-shirts with their bare arms touching and the universe above them.

When Tooru turns his head, the sky is reflecting in Keiji’s eyes, as if galaxies were caught in them as he watches in awe with a faint smile on his lips and a wave of familiarity rushes over him, warm and welcoming, as he cuddles closer and runs his hand over Keiji’s arm.

There’s nowhere in the world he’d rather be.

 

* * *

 

His eyes don’t particularly _want_ to open, but they have to eventually, he figures, even if just lying in bed half dozed off sounds much more tempting. If he doesn’t get up soon, though, Keiji’s not going to either, and they won’t get anything done, so he has to be the responsible one for a change.

Even though he really doesn’t want to.

Before that, though, he turns around into the general direction his boyfriend is probably in, provided they haven’t shifted positions while asleep. He stretches out his arm and feels for him, but all his hand finds is the cold mattress.

“Keiji?” Tooru mumbles and slowly opens his eyes, blinking against the blurry world around him, and he wonders why there’s no light from the window coming in and why he can’t find Keiji’s warm body next to him.

Then, suddenly, without warning, it all comes back.

The bedroom in his new apartment is smaller and doesn’t even have a window, and Keiji left more than a month ago.

Of course he isn’t here.

What was he _thinking_?

He groans and sits up, pushing his bangs up, dropping his hand to run it over his face in a notion of _get a grip, Tooru, you’ve been doing well lately, don’t throw that progress away_.

But god, he’s miserable, his chest tight and clogged up until it’s hard to breathe, and when he tries to stand up, he almost tumbles over, head spinning.

He stumbles to the bathroom and finds his own face in the mirror, pale, his forehead shining with sweat. He looks terrible and feels similarly, and he doubts that’s all because he happens to be missing his dumb ex-boyfriend. Did he catch something?

He figures it should work if he takes a paracetamol, as it usually does, because he can’t afford missing practice despite being pretty much on top of things. If he does, he’ll just start overthinking, and the last thing he wants is to get back into that mode in which that annoying part of him is shouting nonstop about how he should have never let Keiji go.

He has better things to do, damn it.

Practice passes by him and he doesn’t remember much of it, but he played straight through and didn’t feel worse afterward, so it couldn’t have been that bad, although Kuroo quickly dismisses his invitation for all of them to go eat together in favour of dragging him along to his and Bokuto’s place and making him chicken soup because apparently, he needs it. Pff. Oikawa Tooru does not need chicken soup when he’s feeling a bit sick. He can take care of himself just fine, thank you very much.

(But he does take the soup. Kuroo makes good soup.)

“You look like death,” Bokuto says and pokes his cheek.

“I doubt death is as stunningly attractive,” Tooru retorts and takes another sip of soup.

Kuroo snorts. “Sure, because you’re gorgeous right now. The best you’ve ever looked, really.”

He puts up his middle finger at him and gets a pillow thrown in his face, almost dropping the soup bowl on the couch. “You’re so mean to me.”

“Someone has to be, now that Akaashi’s—” Bokuto realises his mistake a fraction of a second too late and interrupts himself quickly, but the thought is already back in Tooru’s mind after a day of being mostly fine, even after that awakening.

“Gone,” he whispers, staring at the almost empty bowl. “I know.”

Oh, how he knows.

If he didn’t, he might not be sitting here.

That’s the thing, if Keiji was still with him he’d probably be undergoing the same procedure, except in the safety of his own apartment and with only one person annoying him, the only person he needs.

But Keiji’s gone.

Obviously.

Maybe that’s _why_ he left. Maybe Tooru was just growing to be too much of a nuisance he constantly had to look out for.

Maybe it was his own fault all along.

Kuroo clears his throat and takes the soup bowl out of his hands to place it on the coffee table. “But. Uhm. We’re here.”

They are.

They’re not Keiji, but they’re his friends. Probably his best friends, nowadays. Keiji’s, too. Well, probably not anymore. He’s probably already found new people where he lives and works now.

Maybe he’s fallen in love.

It’s the first time he realises that the possibility of Keiji finding someone else to spend his life with is a very real one, and now the thought of some faceless, nameless guy kissing him and holding his hand and hearing him say all those things that used to be reserved for Tooru is spreading all over his mind, and suddenly he’s shaking and only vaguely noticing that Kuroo is trying to talk to him, words he doesn’t understand as his imaginations overpower everything else—

Until he’s wrapped in a tight hug and blinks, once, twice, and Bokuto is sobbing into his shoulder, holding him closely.

“Stop that,” he whimpers. “You’re scaring me.”

Keiji once said the same thing, back in university, when he got too worked up over a lost match and took out his anger on a stray trashcan. He took his hands and looked him straight in the eyes, with a weird kind of stubborn worry on his face. By all accounts he should be dragged even deeper right now.

But for some reason, hearing Bokuto say it comforts him.

“Sorry,” he forces out somehow, but his friend doesn’t let him go. When he exchanges glances with Kuroo, he just shrugs – this is his problem now, apparently.

It doesn’t really feel like a problem anyway.

 

* * *

 

His first match with the national team is a friendly against Vietnam and means absolutely nothing in the long run, but he gets to play for half of it and the victory is just as satisfying as it would have been in a tournament.

He missed the pride of hitting a clean no-touch ace and setting the ball in a perfect arc for the ace to slam it into the ground, preferably on the opponent’s side. They do plenty of practice matches amongst themselves, but there’s nothing like seeing another team getting utterly destroyed by them.

(Okay, maybe they _did_ have two deuces so he can’t really call it ‘utterly destroyed’ but he’s going to anyway, because he can.)

Another setter of the team, a guy called Oreki Hiroomi who’s actually a year younger than him and reminds him of a less petty Yahaba, hands him a water bottle after the match and Tooru feels like ruffling his hair, so he does, earning a protesting laugh from him.

It’s almost like high school all over again – he always liked having kouhai to dote on, even if they are Tobio. Speaking of whom, it shouldn’t take too long until he gets scouted as well, considering he played for the youth team and, despite his genuine affection for the latter, is miles above Oreki. It’s a day he’s dreading, but he did end up getting along with Ushiwaka, so who knows. They mostly ignored each other in university, despite being on the same team, if nothing else that will work once again.

“Great job today, Oikawa-san,” Oreki says with admiration in his voice. “That last quick with Kuroo-san looked amazing!”

“That’s because it _was_ amazing,” he agrees and grins. It really was. The Bokuto-Ushiwaka combination makes for an impeccable decoy, nobody saw it coming so Kuroo could spike completely free. They didn’t even know what hit them.

“You are! I thought you were cool in practice, but that’s nothing in comparison to an actual match.”

“Yes, keep flattering me,” Tooru jokes, although he can’t deny he likes the thought. It’s been too long since someone has been this been this earnestly amazed by his abilities, and Oreki has just the right amount of excitement about him that it feels incredibly rewarding. He can live with this.

“Do we really want to end up with two Bokutos?” Miya, the other regular setter – also a year younger than him, he might actually be the oldest of the bunch, if he thinks about it – asks from the bench next to them with his signature smirk and a raised eyebrow.

“Having two of me would be awesome!” That’s Bokuto, shouting over the court. He’s energetic as all hell today, and as usual, it’s extremely contagious. No wonder he has so many friends – so much as looking at him in full force is like inhaling pure positivity. Granted, that can break down quickly, but when he’s at this best, he’s a walking powerhouse in more ways than one.

Then, of course, there’s the left-handed super-ace Ushijima Wakatoshi, the possibly even better Sakusa Kiyoomi, the provocation expert and blocking mastermind Kuroo Tetsurou, the four-time winner of Japan’s high school Best Setter award – even though that should have gone to Tooru, what the hell – Miya Atsumu, personified iron wall Aone Takanobu … And that’s only some of them.

Holy hell, this team is _good_.

For some reason, it took him some time to notice just _how_ good, but now that he sees them in this light, he can’t help his smile. He belongs here. With the best of the best.

 _I never once doubted you could do it_ , Keiji’s voice resounds in his head.

_Hell yes I could._

 

* * *

 

“You were great,” he whispers into his ear as Tooru holds him. “As always.”

There’s nobody else in the hallway and he’s honestly not sure if it ever even ends, there’s just walls and walls and walls stretching out into nothing until he can’t see the end but who cares about that?

“Although you botched that receive when their ace first hit it to you.”

He’s not wrong. Kind of mean, but not wrong.

For some reason, he can’t say anything, but he doesn’t feel like it anyway, just buries his nose in Keiji’s hair and breathes in his scent.

He’s going to do better next time, until there’s nothing to complain about.

 

* * *

 

Tooru wakes up in the middle of the night and, this time, immediately realises it was a dream.

That doesn’t stop the hollow feeling in his chest, or the tears he feels trickling down his cheeks as he raises a hand to the ceiling, though, and once again his bed feels too big yet too small, and he wonders why the fuck this just can’t leave him alone.

And, damn, even dream-Keiji is fast to pick at his mistakes. Aren’t dreams supposed to be idealisations or something? At least when they aren’t nightmares? They don’t have to be _this_ painfully realistic.

Actually, he’d appreciate if they just stopped altogether, because it’s been almost exactly three months and he still feels like he can pick up Keiji’s scent in the air, even though that makes no sense because he literally dreamed it up.

After the match, he was fairly confident he could finally move the hell on.

That was a week ago and just when he thought he was going somewhere, his subconscious slams this dream into his face because he doesn’t already have enough to deal with as it is.

Keiji said he’d come to each and every one of his matches.

A promise already broken.

“Oh, go away,” he hisses at the thought, and it does help a bit, so he repeats, “go away, go away, go away,” until he feels kind of stupid and turns around, mumbling the words into his pillow one last time.

He doesn’t fall asleep again after that, so a few minutes later, he gets dressed and starts running, not even bothering to check the time, with the stars invisible over him in the bright night of Tokyo.

He kind of hates this place sometimes.

 

* * *

 

He’s not really listening while their manager explains something about how they’ll work together with a new sports magazine soon or something. It doesn’t matter to them, anyway, all they’ll need to do is look pretty on photos, something that could quite reasonably be considered Tooru’s one true talent.

No, his attention is focused on Ushiwaka a few seats away flipping through a Shounen Jump issue and looking hilariously intense while doing it. His reading speed doesn’t even make sense, he’ll skip some pages entirely while staring at some for an unreasonably long time, and nobody seems to mind even though they’re literally in the middle of a meeting. They might be strong but they’re not the most professional bunch out there, huh.

He doesn’t know why it’s so captivating, but he assumes it’s because their manager is not what he’d consider an engaging speaker and he has absolutely nothing else to do.

He’d consider doodling on his paper, except he doesn’t have paper, just an empty table. He can almost certainly hear Bokuto snoring on one side of him and Miya’s constant tapping with his pen on his other side isn’t helping him concentrate, either.

Maybe they should have someone designated to speak about these kinds of things, because at this rate, everyone’s just going to end up confused because nobody could focus on what the hell he’s talking about.

Ugh, it’s so _boring_. Can’t they talk about more exciting things, like, you know, actual volleyball?

 _Stop spacing out and start paying attention, this is important as well_ , Keiji would say, and _not everything in life is volleyball, and this already comes close, so be more grateful._ Not that Keiji would know, considering he’s not here, and even if he was still in Tokyo he wouldn’t be on the team.

Which, by the way, Tooru considers a travesty, because Keiji is really damn good. He should have at least been invited, even if he might not have gone either way.

If he had been, maybe he would have called off Kyoto and just gone with him and they could play together like they did in university and everything would be fine.

Right now, things are hanging in a kind of … Questionable state. He’s not crying daily anymore, he knows he’s capable of feeling things other than regret and that obnoxious _nothing_ , but he’s far from okay, either. He’s … There. Mostly. It’s still difficult to get excited for anything other than volleyball, and on bad days he wonders if it’s going to be that way forever, but on good days he thinks, _Sure, why not?_ until he closes his eyes and dreams of Keiji again because the universe has a funny way of reminding him he lost the love of his life by constantly bringing him back up every time he thinks he’s finally gotten over him for good.

If he’s being honest with himself, he probably never will be.

Nishinoya has suggested he should just go out on a date with someone, live his life a little, get a girlfriend or something. He considered it for about two seconds before the very same spear that pierces him when he imagines Keiji with someone else – something he tries to avoid, but it comes back when he lets his guard down, which is getting exhausting – was ramming into his heart again and he dismissed the idea.

It’s already hard enough to think of Keiji as an ex-boyfriend. Sealing the deal by going out with someone else would tear him apart, and besides, it’s not fair to the other person either if there are no feelings from his part.

He’s given up on his love life, honestly. It’s Keiji or no one.

So, no one. He’s fine with that. He really is. More than with the alternative, anyway.

“So if you could all come to the gym at Tuesday, October 23rd …” the manager says, but he has no idea why they would. That was supposed to be their off day. What a rip-off.

“I’m gonna be in a magazine!” Bokuto, now wide awake, whispers very loudly. The fact that they’re on the national team and are going to be in many magazines from now on, plus that he has been featured in _Volleyball Monthly_ uncountable times, seems to have passed over him, but Tooru’s glad he can be excited.

 

* * *

 

October 23rd is a cold, cold day. Too cold, in fact. Isn’t it supposed to be fall, not winter? Tooru feels like he’ll freeze if he stays in a single position for too long so he’s pacing around the gym entrance, waiting for someone to open it, because of course he’s early. His sense of time has been jumbled for a while now, and he can’t seem to get it right again.

They should just give them all a key or something. They can get into the workout facilities and the cafeteria just fine, why lock them out of the gym?

“Are you with the national team?” someone asks behind him and when he turns around, he finds a small, blonde girl wrapped in what looks like three blankets who …

Looks extremely familiar?

She seems to be thinking the same thing, because she gasps and immediately starts fumbling around, squeaking out, “Oh my god you’re Oikawa-san I’m so sorry I didn’t notice of course you’re with the team I’m so stupid I should have known I’m sorry I’m so sorry—”

“Hey, hey, calm down, it’s okay.” She’s as jumpy as ever, huh. He didn’t expect to be seeing Karasuno’s former manager here of all places, though, carrying a heavy-looking suitcase. “Yachi-san, was it? Let me take that.”

She squeals in shock when he reaches for the suitcase and shakes her head valiantly. “Nonono it’s fine I can handle this! You do your thing and I do mine … I-I’m Yachi Hitoka by the way!”

He can’t help a snort. She’s adorably incompetent. “I know that, your teammates told me all about you. Why are you here though?”

“Oh, I’m an intern! A-at Rizumia. We’re doing the photoshoot today, and the interviews …” She laughs awkwardly and pushes a stray strand of hair out of her face, almost dropping the suitcase. “Uhm, I’m only watching though. This isn’t my department, I’m with the graphic designers, but they needed some more people to help set everything up, so …”

Rizumia? Must be the agency doing the magazine, he vaguely recalls the name from that boring meeting.

He won’t deny some tiny part of him hoped for Aruka, but he immediately dismisses the thought – it would have just gotten his hopes up and Keiji’s not here anyway. He’s in Kyoto. Over 600 kilometres away.

Honestly, fuck Kyoto. Always ruining everything.

They stand outside talking and trying not to freeze for a while and it would be genuinely nice if he wasn’t trapped in another one of those overthinking cycles again, but Yachi is cute and kind enough to help alleviate the pain a bit until someone from the gym staff finally comes by and lets them in.

“So, from everything I’ve heard,” Yachi explains while setting down the suitcase when they’re inside and waiting for the rest of the bunch, “we’re going to take photos of you playing, and then some for each individual player … Or was it in groups of three? Maybe both? I’m so sorry, I don’t remember …”

“It’s okay,” he says for the fifth time now. “We’ll just have to see.”

Slowly but surely, the rest of them arrive, and Nishinoya almost tackles Yachi when he sees her, her scream loud enough to feel like it permanently damaged Tooru’s eardrums. Bokuto and Kuroo take similarly to her, albeit with less jumping, and it fills the entrance area with the sense of familiarity he has come to both love and dread. It’s something that reminds him of not just Keiji, but Iwaizumi as well, and the rest of Seijoh.

But once they get to the locker rooms and start changing, the old and welcome feeling of _we’re about to play volleyball, hell yes_ settles in and he’s able to forget it, if just for a moment.

“They’re a new company, right?” Nishinoya asks as he pulls his shirt off, and Aone nods.

“Think they’re part of a bigger one, though. I’m amazed Yacchan got the internship, but I’ve heard she’s actually pretty good. Studying graphic design, I think.” Kuroo pulls out his phone and scrolls, furrowing his eyebrows at something. “Ugh, Sendai won.”

“Sendai won?” Maybe today is shaping up to be a good day after all.

It all feels like regular practice, but at the same time it doesn’t, because there are tons of people around while they’re doing their warm-ups and the chatter of the photographers is filling the gym, creating an almost tournament-like aura. He doesn’t hate it.

One of their coaches is talking to someone important-looking in a nice suit and there’s a lot of gesticulating and nodding and head-shaking involved. The other coach tells them to pay them no mind, but that’s getting increasingly difficult when he sees Yachi stumble around, trying to attach some things to other things that honestly all look the same to him because he still has no idea about the technicalities of taking photos. The only things he does recognise are the cameras and lights. No idea how they want to work with the latter with the team constantly moving though.

Something about Yachi awakens his protector instinct. If she’d been his kouhai, he has a feeling she’d be like a little sister to him now. Would be better than big sis Oikawa “I’m not going to say I told you so, but I told you so” Shiida, that’s for sure.

“Alright, we’re starting with running!” the captain, Okudake, shouts and receives shouts of “yes, sir” in various degrees of enthusiasm.

He doesn’t mind it, actually he prefers having something specific to do on his off days, only to distract himself, and he doesn’t dislike running. He prefers doing it outside, but it’s far too cold for the poor magazine folk to be setting themselves up out there, so he understands why they’re only running laps in the gym.

He settles into a rhythm quickly, not leading the bunch but not staying back, either; he’s best somewhere in the middle, where he’s neither going too fast nor too slow. Regulating his breathing used to be a pain, but he doesn’t even notice anymore, and before he knows it, he’s distracted again while his body’s running on autopilot.

It doesn’t seem like an exciting job, but he can see why someone would want to take photos or work at graphic design for a living. Keiji has always been passionate about it, and it’s a creative outlet if nothing else, although it’s probably restricting as well, like being told what to draw in art class, something he always hated. He probably couldn’t do it. Volleyball gives him enough freedom while still maintaining a regular schedule, and it’s the only thing keeping him in line at the moment. If he had a more creative job, the pain would influence his work much more.

He scans the crowd for familiar faces – if Yachi is here, maybe Ennoshita is, too, they used to play him and he’s pretty sure he went to the same university as her. Heck, maybe he’ll even find someone from Seijoh, didn’t Yahaba want to go into sound design? With Nishinoya getting his kouhai back, it only seems fair.

There’s nobody he recognises though, so he keeps on running, somewhat disappointed—

Until he suddenly stops.

Just stands there, and his heart is racing despite better judgement because there’s no way, just because he saw black hair and tan skin and sea-green eyes he’d recognise _everywhere_ doesn’t mean anything. He always thought Matsukawa looked similar, and he’s certainly not the only one, it’s not the most outrageous appearance there is, so his mind’s certainly playing tricks on him, like it still is too many nights when his dreams feel like reality and he’s _so_ close.

Because there’s no way. He would have known. This is just some crazy coincidence that life decided to throw at him as just another test he has clearly failed because _look at him_.

Look at him, eyes wide, holding a camera in his refined hands ( _setter hands_ ), his lips trembling on the other side of the metal dividers.

“Keiji?”

**Author's Note:**

> I'm most likely going to write Keiji's perspective? if you want? I mean in the end it's probably irrelevant if you want that or not because I'm gonna do it anyway but. I still want to know. if you want that. I mean. uhm. Nija out and thank you for reading!! ^w^)/
> 
> ending fun fact: "Aruka" is short for "Arupaka" so like "alpaca", wanted to name it ARPK (https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HndDkSE738w) like I usually do because I FUCKING LOVE ALPACAS but it felt unprofessional. and "Rizumia" is derived from my FE:A avatar, Arythmia.
> 
> hq!! tumblr: http://akaashi-tooru.tumblr.com come cry with me about rarepairs


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